Friday, December 26, 2008

Me having trouble getting sleep at night or being woken up by weird nightmares is no new story. But last night things decided to take a different turn. I usually don't remember what my nightmares were, let alone what they mean. My mind is blank once I wake up. But last night, I remember the last bit of my nightmare; the part just before I woke up in a cold sweat.

The nightmare/what I remember of it:It was the usual things - violent, with blood squirting, people screaming and all that. Towards the end of the nightmare I remember telling myself to write down what just happened. Turns out that in some sub-conscious level I knew what exactly was happening. And suddenly the scenes change. I am back in my room, writing down what had just happened. I then fold the paper over and put it inside my cupboard before going to bed. After this, I wake up with a start.

Now am actually awake and feeling all weird. The clock showed that it was half past 2. I remember seeing several familiar faces being smashed and throats being slit in differnet scenes, so I decided to call up one of them and check if everything was OK. (Yes, I know it sounds silly now, but I was in a different frame of mind then) Turned out he was fast asleep, assured me nothing is wrong and asked me to try and catch some sleep. Which I eventually did.

I woke up again around 6, went through my ablutions and was about to get ready to go to work. I opened my cupboard, and strangely enough, I see a paper folded over and placed on top of my clothes.

I opened it, read it and flipped out. This is what was written, in my shabby handwriting, describing something very similar to the nightmare I had:

So, you think you have me all figured outMy choice of whiskey, the shape of my noseWhen I like to shout, and when am at reposeThe smell of my armpits and curve of my backMy favorite colors -- blue and lilacYou think you know me inside out,without the least shadow of doubt

But you've missed the warning sign on my headTelling you stories of men who are deadWho did not listen to what was saidAs they willingly came for the warmth of bed

So, you think you have me all figured outName, middle name, surname, nicknamebank accounts, friends, previous flamesYou have it all, you proclaimTyped out and saved under one filenameTo gather, sort, file and routeAfter all, that's exactly for what you were cutout

I won't stop as you try in earnestto coo and swoon me in your inflamed lustFor this is my sport, my only joyAs I watch one by one, man after boyWalk willingly towards my burgeoning breastsNot knowing it's their life's final sunset

Another one bites the dustBut there are still too many leftI am waiting; weaving my web of lustUntil I stumble upon the next

Thursday, December 25, 2008

It's Christmas and everyone I know are with family or friends. My plans for a quiet holiday in Shimla being canceled, I'm stuck in Hyderabad.

Thank you for all for calling me and letting me know of the absolutely great time you're having -- the oh so perfect meals and thoughtful presents, the chance memory of the old childhood joke and uncontrolled laughter till your eyes watered, the million other perfect moments that you are totally enjoying -- with family and friends.

I am just finishing up on work, writing a second post on the same day and eating cup noodles alone for dinner.

Who reads this stuff, anyway?

test

It’s so weird when people ask you who you are and you end up offering details about what you do.
I am still figuring out who I am but I'll tell you some of what I do. I work. I write. I read. I love poetry. I am single, but sometimes I am plural. I am different people rolled into one. I am cynical. I am passionate. I love early mornings. I love late nights. I hate what comes in between. I love music. I love theatre. I can’t stand melodrama. I cannot live or survive or even exist without coffee.
That's pretty much the short version of me.